How my guitar caught Hep c

In the World Book Enyclopedia entry above a picture of Audrey Hepburn, we learn Hepatitis C (Hep C) Is the most common cause of chronic Hepatitis. Most cases result from using contaminated needles for injecting illegal drugs, tatooing, or body piercing. Hepatitis C may lead to chronic Hepatitis, cirrhosis, or liver cancer.
Hep C is usually spread when blood from a person infected with the Hep C virus enters the body of someone who is not infected.
People can become infected with the Hep C virus doing such activities as:
Sharing needles
Needlestick injuries in health care settings
Being born to a mother who has Hep C
Less commonly a person can also get a Hepatitis C infection through:
Sharing personal care items that may have come in contact with another persons blood such as razors or toothbrushes
Having sexual contact with a person infected with the Hep C virus.
What none of the authorities tell you about is the risk of sharing your guitar with a carrier...
To say she was everything to me would be would be an understatement. Imagine the girl of your dreams made out of ice cream and multiply the mental image by a Hundred and you may begin to know what I feel about her or at the very least temporarily share the emptiness in my stomach.
She was proof of love at first sight. She radiated red. The doctors say the color red is hardwired into our subconcious priming our neanderthink to be automatically attracted to it. In my present state of loss I can neither confirm nor dispel the psychological inquiry. Her paint job only mocks me now. For she was a B.C. Rich Masterpiece Mockingbird with the Dragon Blood Red finish which earned her namesake- Daenerys Targaryen- the mother of dragons.
In sharp contrast, stood eagerly the catalyst to our downfall. The Howdy Doody looking motherfucker with his extroverted ears reined in by his baseball cap that barely dimmed his clip on freckles. This is who aww shucksed the shit out of me, bidding me bring my guitar to the park, for he had never played a mockingbird. Music is community. You do not disarm your peers palette. It was not so long ago I myself was making similar requests and will again be introduced to something new in this manner.
Holding her, the hatted Howdy Doody sputtered. "I cant believe how heavy it is-
Cutting him short I warned. "Never comment on ladies weight!"
A crowd was forming , not to back up the truth of what I just said but wanting to hear Howdy play.
To hear her.
Howdy halted frozen in the moment. Made tiny technical compliments on its action. Then how he had to get used to adjusting her to his knee sitting down. It brought little relief he didnt accuse her of being down when he began describing the dream DJ for his band. The only reason my attention could not drift faster was in observation of the speed limit. We were in a school zone.
I was called back when I could hear Daenerys purr. But nothing stirred past abrupt power chords and countless returns to a penetonic scale in the fifth position, trailing off in trills.
I know girl. I know.
Marveling at the tone they asked about the pick ups.
"B.D.S.M. humbuckers. " I responded.
All nodded enthusiastically in approval, not having the slightest idea of what that meant.
B.D.S.M. stands for Broad.Dynamic.Sonically.Matched.Only now looking back I see the acronym as an ominous preview of the snuff film I'm presently reporting.
Enter my friend Shane. And friend he is. He has been in a string of metal bands known for his epic riffage and moatburning solos. He had not played in some time. He was forming a wetspot to put Pavlovs dog to shame. Chomping at the bit to play. I was only too happy to oblige having no doubt it would dramtically alter the course of Daenerys field trip.
As shane took her in his arms, his hands began to tremble hovering above the fretboard like a wiccan scrying for the location of the lover who spurned their undying love. At last finding his mark he tore into few songs. Pausing momentarily to find his footing . Unlike Howdy he fretted chords until form took familar shape prompting motor memory in time with Howdys arched ears whos praise brought Shane back to Earth, he passed on the torch he lit. The next person in line held her like he had to wait for her to cool off before attempting to follow Shane.
Shanes attemp to express his feelings fell short in accuracy but his enthusiasm filled in the blanks. If his diatribe had a name it's working title would be "The thrill". Seeing as we were not in the publishing industry we took a walk. Wherever the lost words were they were nearer than his breath trying to keep my pace.
Wagging his ponytail he told me he needs to build his callyses before showing me the ribbons Daenerys turned his fingers into. Apolizing for bleeding all over my guitar. This I shrugged off as nothing to clean up. "No" he urged me more directly. "You do not understand. I have Hep C. I just covered your B.C. Rich in a deadly pathogen! Laugh"
I stopped.
A bajillion thoughts ran through my head. None of them outran the thought to spare him his feelings. Stunned as I was, the silence was easy enough to execute. I politely declined his offer to buy new strings. It's not like they held the cure for Hep C.
Heading back to the guitar circle I had as much luck blocking out Shanes thorough enjoyment of Daenerys as I would had he boasted about raping someone I love and savoring saving telling her he has an S.T.D. to add to her physical desecration.
The circle objected to my retreiving her so hastily. I shook everyones hand making sure nobody else was cut before tossing Daenery behind me like I played rhythem guitar in a bad early aughts Nu-metal band . I walked on in a manner I could not be caught dead doing otherwise. And dead I might add. I was not feeling very far from.
Returning to where I stay with my girlfriend Stephanie.
For the record we do not live with her parants. It was our base of operations.
And it was defenitly time to operate.
I released the strap lock and let her fall to the floor. Even in her condition the discordant sound made me cringe. I got on WebMD like I was storming the emergency room. Finding the proper medical procedure . I strapped her on the gurney, suited up in my scrubs. Pulling socks over my latex gloved hands before submerging a rag into diluted bleach.
The chemistry in the cauldron stopped me for a second. Bleach is highly corrosive. The strings are done. That is certain. This was about saving my guitar.
Steph stood by with watery eyes. Maybe she cared. Maybe it was the bleach.
I began from the top daring not to even touch the tuning pegs barehanded I loosened every string up before me by the time I finished Daenerys was the one lying there opened up yet it felt like I was about to perform open heart surgery on myself. I called out "CLEAR!" Then took the plunge.
The unplugged electric guitar broke reticence like a dying bunny. The screams would have been too much for me were the task before me not so grave. Refusing to neglect anywhere I lifted each string so I can scrub it down completely all the while imagining my love covered in bugs with no arms to scratch them away.
TWANG!!!
A string snapped and riccocheted right into my forearm where the where the sock ends and I begin.
"YOU'RE BLEEDING!"Steph cried.
A grimance remained on her face as she joined me in a staring at the red line welling up praying for nothing else surface. My heart beat faster betraying any sense of passing time. I held my sock sheathed hand up to the sky shaking, imploring the infinite to tell me is this what I get for switching to crew and foresaking the tube?
Only the red line remained.
Nothing leaked. Nothing breached.
My relief was shortlived.
Laying down my love. Seeing her strings sprawled in every which way. She looked like an aborted slinkie. I could not bear the sight of her any longer. I looked off into the distance of the next three weeks the internet told the virus the virus had to live.
Not a day went by did I not examine my skin for any hint of a yellow tinge creeping in. I drank water by the gallon so even my urine be clear of any misreads due to dehydration. Indeed I had more aversion to the color yellow then the Green Lantern.
The frequent bathroom trips were hardly to blame for keeping me up late at night. Oh how I wish I could get a blood test everyday. Where is Theranos when you need them? Damn the wall Street Journal smear campaign.
Much of this period was blamed by the FX network running a thirteen day marathon airing every episode of the twenty seven seasons and still going strong of the Simpsons. And just when I thought I was set from thanksgiving to Pearl Harbor Day.
This unprecedented event in TV history fell victim to Shane as well. When at our inevitable run in when the subject of The Simpsons came up he quipped:
"I have been watching so much Simpsons I am starting to turn yellow." Laugh.
There went the solace of my sallow sanctuary.
Worst of all I wanted Daenerys more than ever. It was as much desire as it was reflex. Only fidelity prevented me from clumbing the attic sooner to dust off my old Squier Stratocaster. Playing it only reminded me why I had traded up in the first place. Whatever of my thirst had been sated was spoiled in the aftertaste. The Squier had been left to fester so long by the time I put her down I smell like I have been fingering a dead robot. I suppose that is what I get for cheating with a cheap skank.
I needed Daenerys back now. Looking at her I tried to think..
If only there were some way to create a protective barrier between the two of us..
To take pleasure in each others delights while reducing the risk...
Yes, some kind of protective sheath to shield me from the disease yet not dull her to my touch...
That's it!
A prophylactic!
I returned to the latex glove research once more. Alternatively I tried to stretch them over the headstock as far as it would go (Just had to have twenty four frets didn't I?) Then I tried to knot it around the contours. Both proved useless it simply would not reach. I looked at Steph thinking aloud
Maybe I should run to the store and grab some magnums-"
No sooner than I made the suggestion she darted out into the hallway returning in an instant with a hamdful of loose magnums.
I stared at her a beat.
Taken aback by my expression She asked :"WHAT?"
Mouth agape. No words could come to me.
Steph gathered my thoughts before I could form a sentence. Rolling her eyes she laughed. "Their my Dad's silly!"
Somewhat comforted; we could proceed.
Alas only to fail. The limited access prevented any further pursuit of this strategy impractical. It was all but impossible to bend any of the strings fully. Stifling the vibration suffocating any sustain that did npt immediatly flap out in a choppy harmonic or a pity feedback.
Confiding this of many woes to my good friend and fellow guitarist Jerry. He offered the suggestion I pull the condom over my whole body then dive in.
Staring blankly with my head in my hand I admitted I had not thought of that.
Staring at Daenerys in quarentine as Steph stood vigil I reviewed the new low my despair had made me succumb to. Daenerys did not escape the bleach bubble bath unscathed. Her tuning pegs had begun to lightly rust. Blistering into red specks darkening the chrome that began to resemble Howdys freckles. A dying declaration of who was respnsible. Refusing to face her deathmask I covered her headstock with a handkerchief and left her sitting against the walllike someone stricken with the black plague who was considerate enough to sew herself into her own linen sarcophugas.
As the end od three weeks approached, kneading my softening calluses I began to seriously ask myself if I could ever feel safe to play Daenery ever again. If she survives what if some trace of the disease lies dormant? What if the same room temperature her pinnochioid body thrives in would not in turn cultivate creature comfort for the cultures keeping her captive?
How would I ever expise myself to these once radioactive areas?
What if she cuts her teeyh on me and I get cut?
New strings can do nothing to return to me the abandon to play a solo. Restraint is anathema to letting it flow.
I could no longer lie to myself.
This is not three weeks.
This is over.
Ok so she is not the most expensive guitar in the world. But that simply added to her charm. In fact in 2012, Guitar player magazine listed the B.C. RICH masterpiece mockingbird as the best guitar under $500.00 On the aftershow to the Walking Dead-Talking Dead-Slash declared the B.C. RICH mockingbird the chouce guitar to weild come the zombie apocalypse.
She is impossible to replace. A model of guitar is not unlike a Supermodel. Another may share similar features but its NOT the same gal. They do NOT have the same signature. If I broke up with Steph I could not simply start dating her twin and feel what I felt for her. I can not settle for some doppelbanger.
I am going to start saving for a fender Stratocaster. It may be a while. I launched a Go Fund me campaign. I was largely told to go fuck myself.
Recently GILEAD Sciences., Inc have been running ads to raise awarness of the Hep C Virus and the need to request to be tested since it isn't prioritized in routine blood work. Thus labeling it the forgotten virus. Towards their effort may this tale serve as a reminder the next time someone asks to play your guitar.